3 poems Read out loud.

I tried to write a song today. It didn't want to come out. But I wrote three poems. And I wanted to speak them out loud. To you guys. I guess I was inspired by a TED talk I saw yesterday about Performance Poetry, spoken word. Watch it!

A bit of a lost art, if you ask me. I don't know much about it. I've hardly ever seen it. And I've been known to make fun of it. But I had something I needed to express today. And it wouldn't come out as a song. But I knew it was valid. That is the great thing about art. It's ALWAYS valid. It's not good or bad. It's just worthy. It's worthy of paper. And mp3s. And deserves to be spoken. And shared.

So I've never considered myself a poet. I've never read my poems outloud. But I did today.
And I wanted to share them.

Here are the written poems, they should sort of be taken as a threesome, but not in a kinky way. You can listen to me reading them, or download the track for free on my bandcamp site: HERE.

I even made cover art for them. YAY!


You make me feel 15
Not in a good way
In the invisible, brace-faced, awkward, hate myself kind of way
Why don't you see me
as I am?
What do you see?
That's why it hurts so bad.
Because maybe it's true.
As if your eyes were the score card from the entire universe
And I received
an incomplete.

The Facebook

Facebook was made for people like me
The chronically insecure
The unseen
Reaching out
Atleast ONE
Will care
What I ate

4 Sisters

The ugly duckling and I would have been tight
10 years old, chubby and happy
Not a care in the world
Except for my Dad
Enter stepmom
Enter 3 sisters
3 tall, blonde, adorable sisters
and me
The eye sore
The 'talented one'
Fuck talent
I want to die.
If only I could have those legs for one day
Or walk around in that brown skin to 3rd period Math
My smile stopped making sense
The crooked way my jaw leaned to the side
My cute factor disappeared into the numbers on the scale
As my stepmom clocked me in
Just above
Everyone else
If only I was thinner
If only I was blonder
If only I was them and not me
Then I would be loved
Then my Dad would see me again
Then I could be free.
What if Cinderella was the ugly one and the stepsisters were pretty?
Would we have pulled for her to get the Prince in the end?
I hope so.
I'm grown now and walk in the world as an attractive, confident, young woman
But after the clock strikes 12
and my carraige turns into a pumpkin
I'm back there
in my old shoes
wiping the mascara away with my tears
feeling 10 years old again
and hoping
that one day
I'll be pretty
Like them.


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